5Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is the property of George R.R. Martin. JoJo's Bizarre Adventure is the property of Hirohiko Araki. I own neither of them, this is something I write both for my and others' enjoyment.
Author's Notes/Introduction: This one idea has been fluttering inside my head for quite a while, and I have decided to finally let it out. These are probably two of my most favorite works of fiction. Yet, when you put them back to back, they couldn't be more different. On one hand, a gritty Dark Fantasy series of books. On the other, an over-the-top, hammy and bizarre manga. Perhaps that's the reason I have been tempted again and again to write this tale. But I would lie if I said I'm not scared. For I respect both these authors a lot. I hope I can do them justice.
A Bizarre World of Ice and Fire
Part I
The Game
What you first need is my Stand, [The World].
What you can find beyond the powers of my Stand is where you need to go in order to find [Heaven]. What you need is a trustworthy friend. He must be someone capable of controlling his own desires. He must be someone who is not interested in political power, fame, wealth, or sexual desire, and who chooses the will of God before the law of humans.
What you also need is the lives of more than thirty-six humans who have sinned, because those who have sinned harbor a strong power within.
Then the fourteen phrases that one must always keep in mind…
What is most necessary is [courage]. I must have the courage to destroy my Stand momentarily. As it disintegrates, my Stand will absorb the souls of the thirty-six sinners and will give birth to something [utterly new].
Whatever is born will [awaken]. It will show interest in the fourteen words that my trusted friend will utter... My friend will trust me and I will become his [friend].
Lastly… an appropriate location.
Go there… and wait for the [New Moon].
That's when [Heaven] will come.
Words from DIO's diary
PROLOGUE
"We should start back."
Will had thought the endless, dark wilderness that the southron called Haunted Forest had no more terrors for him. But something was different tonight. Nine days they had been riding, north and northwest and then north again, hard on the track of a band of wildling raiders. Will knew cold, as all his brothers in the Night's Watch did. You didn't get to live in the Wall without knowing cold. But these nine days… Each day had been worse and colder than the one that came before it. And today was the coldest of all. The wind had been blowing from the north all day, stronger and stronger with every hour that passed, bringing more and more cold with it. There was something strange, about this cold. Unnatural.
"I said we should start back," Gared urged as the woods began to grow even thicker and darker around them. "The wildlings are dead."
"Do the dead frighten you?" Ser Waymar Royce asked with just the hint of a mocking smile.
Gared didn't take the bait. He was too old for that, Will knew. Past fifty, and of those forty had been spent at the Wall. It had seen him grow from boy to man, and taught him many things. "Dead is dead," the old man said. "We have no business with the dead."
Royce frowned. He was young where Gared was old, green and soft where Gared was experienced and hardened. Highborn where Gared was lowborn. A strong, graceful and slim lad of eighteen, the youngest of a House with too many sons. He hadn't even spent half a year in the Wall. Even Will had four years as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch behind him. "What proof we have?"
"Will saw them," Gared answered. "That's proof enough for me."
"My mother told me dead men sing no songs," Will declared. He knew they would bring him into their quarrel. But he had felt a twinge of pride over Gared's trust in him.
"My wet-nurse said the same thing, Will;" Royce replied, and for a moment Will dared to hope he would see reason. "Never believe anything you hear at a woman's tit," he went on, crushing Will's hopes. "There are things to be learned even from the dead. We will go on."
"Mormont said as we should track them, and we did," Gared said as calmly as he could. "They're dead. They shan't trouble us no more. There's hard riding before us. I don't like this weather. If it snows, we could be a fortnight getting back, and snow's the best we can hope for. Ever seen an ice storm, my lord?"
Royce frowned again. "Explain to me what you saw, Will. Leave no detail out;" he ordered, and Will did so.
He explained where he had found the wildling camp. How he had seen the eight bodies lying around, motionless. He talked about the woman he had seen in the ironwood, also motionless. How no living creature could lie that way and that long without moving. He even described the weapons he saw around, what the bodies were clad in, the remnants of a fire. But when Royce asked if he had seen blood and he answered he didn't, Will knew that no reason, no matter how good, would quench the young lord's desire. Even when he asked what could have killed the wildlings and Gared explained it had probably been the damn cold, Royce didn't believe it.
"If Gared said it was the cold…" Will began, trying to appeal to the highborn's reason once again. Gods be damned, was Royce so desperate to earn as a ranger the glory that being born last had denied him as a lord that he was willing to let the other men freeze to death if necessary?
"Have you drawn any watches this past week, Will?" Wymar asked.
"Yes, m'lord." There never was a week when he did not draw a dozen bloody watches. What was the man driving at?
"And how did you find the Wall?" the lordling kept inquiring.
"Weeping," Will said, frowning. He saw it clear enough, now that the lordling had pointed it out. "They couldn't have froze. Not if the Wall was weeping. It wasn't cold enough."
Royce nodded. "Bright lad. We've had a few light frosts this past week, and a quick flurry of snow now and then, but surely no cold fierce enough to kill eight grown men. Men clad in fur and leather, let me remind you, with shelter near at hand, and the means of making fire. As I said, we will go on." The knight's smile was cocksure. "Will, lead us there. I would see these dead men for myself."
The order had been given. There was no chance of going back now. So they rode, Will in front of the other two. Twilight deepened. The cloudless sky turned a deep purple, the color of an old bruise, then faded to black. The stars began to come out. A half-moon rose. Will was grateful for the light.
Yet when the last light of day left, he felt as if the [cold] had increased tenfold. In the distance, a wolf howled. His weary, small garron trembled, and Will patted it a couple of times in order to calm the animal down. In these dark woods, Will felt as if he had more in common with the animal than with any of the other two Watchmen.
He dismounted as soon as they reached an old, gnarled ironwood; arguing that it was better to keep going on foot. In truth, he wanted to protect the horse.
"There is something strange here," Gared said, the shuddered. "Something wrong."
Royce sighed, annoyed. "Is there?"
"Can't you feel it?" Gared asked. "Listen to the darkness, I don't know…"
Will could feel it too. He had been feeling it for the past nine days. He had never felt so afraid. Never. Not when he had been a child, and his mother told him of the monsters in the dark that hunted men as if they were beasts. Not when the Mallister freeriders had caught him. Not in any of the long nights he had spend keeping watch alone at some spot in the Wall. [Something] was here, wasn't it? [Something] had been following them, keeping an eye on them. [Something] that wasn't a wildling. [Something] that loved them not. Unnatural.
Royce didn't even allow Gared to start a fire. But could a fire even help? Will had the feeling the flames themselves would froze under this cold. Royce then pointed onward, and ordered him to lead on.
Will threaded their way through a thicket, then started up the slope to the low ridge where he had found his vantage point under a sentinel tree. Under the thin crust of snow, the ground was damp and muddy, slick footing, with rocks and hidden roots to trip you up. Will made no sound as he climbed. Behind him, he heard the soft metallic slither of the lordling's ringmail, the rustle of leaves, and muttered curses as reaching branches grabbed at his longsword and tugged on his splendid sable cloak.
At last, they arrived.
And then Will's heart skipped a beat. His breath froze in his lungs. The camp was as he had seen it before, nothing had changed. Nothing… except the bodies.
They were gone. All of them.
Panic took hold of Will's very soul. He could have sworn he had screamed. He was in the ground now. What? How? Why? Fear. Confusion. The cold…
"On your feet, Will," Ser Waymar commanded. "There's no one here. I won't have you hiding under a bush."
No, no, no! He didn't understand!
Yet Will obeyed. He obeyed. He was a man of the Night's Watch. So he obeyed Royce. He obeyed even when the little piece of highborn shit told him to go and climb into the branches of an old tree. He whispered a prayer to the nameless gods of the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. He put it between his teeth to keep both hands free for climbing. The taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort.
Down below Royce cried "Who goes there?"
Will stopped climbing and listened. Watched. Movement, in the dark woods. A [white shadow] in them, standing side by side with a [dark one]. Then they were gone. What? What was that? Had he seen right?
"Will! Will, answer me!" Royce called from below. His voice had lost every single last bit of haughtiness. He sounded as terrified as Will felt. "Why is it so… cold?"
It was, wasn't it? [Cold]. So cold that it burned.
Then the [white shadow] emerged from the dark of the wood and stood proud in front of Royce. It was a strange sight to behold. Terrifying but… beautiful, too. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took.
Will knew what he was looking at. He knew what the thing was.
An [Other]. Like the ones from the stories. But now the stories were real and they were here and Will was a scared child again and he couldn't move. He dared not to even blink. The cold… the cold…
"Come no further," the highborn shit begged bellow. His voice cracked like a boy's. He was scared, too. Yet Will saw him throwing his cape over his shoulders, and holding his blade with both hands and high, ready to fight.
The [Other] slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor. Unnatural.
Will could hear Royce's breathing fasten. Then slow down. And Ser Waymar Royce, sworn brother of the Night's Watch, met the [white shadow] bravely. "Dance with me, then;" he said, holding his sword as high and strongly as he could.
The [Other] stopped. It's eyes fell over the blade. For a few moments that fell like an eternity, it stood there, motionless. Will saw the thing's eyes, blue like he had never seen. A blue that burned like ice. He had never seen something so… so menacing.
And then, from the dark, they came. Twins to the first. Two, and four and six and eight. Many [Others], waiting in the edge of the camp, surrounding Royce. Will ought to say something. It was his duty. And his death if he did so. So he hugged the tree and kept his lips tight and shut.
Wymar Royce fought the [white shadow] bravely. He met the monster's queer blade with his iron one, matched him blow by blow. But there was no hope. Royce grew tired, and then his parry came a beat too late. The monster's blade cut through the ringmail beneath his arm as if it was paper.
The Other said something in a language that Will did not know; his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking. Royce understood that too.
"For Robert!" the highborn shouted in fury, and tried to strike the monster down with his strongest blow. The [Other] parried without effort. And Royce's blade shattered into a million tiny pieces.
The Watchman fell to his knees. His fingers were bloody, the ones that weren't gone. The fight had ended. Royce had lost. The rest of the monsters closed in, queer blades ready, eager to strike.
Then they halted. The victorious [Other] glanced over it's shoulder, and spoke in its language again. And the [dark shadow] emerged from the forest, as the [white shadow] had done before.
It was tall, but not as tall as the [Others]. Taller than any man Will had known, at least. Bulkier, too… yet somehow… lanky. Its movements were queer, devoid of a proper beat. Or so it seemed. It wasn't as if Will could see what or who it was. It was a lone figure, completely covered in a big, thick black mantle; its face completely obscured by a black hood.
Then there was movement, and from under the cloak came an arm garbed in a yellow that hurt the eyes, and a hand gloved in the same horrible color. And the hand was gripping an [Arrow] as none like Will had ever seen. It was too big for any bow he knew of, its head was shaped weirdly, and to his eyes it looked made of rock and gold.
The [Arrow] trembled. The [dark shadow] let go of it. And it flew, until it pierced through Royce's chest.
Will saw his fellow brother of the Night's Watch writhe in pain in the ground as the [Arrow] pierced through him. But Will didn't see any blood coming from the wound, or wetting Ser Waymar's clothes. Royce's eyes shone with light, then he let out a deafening roar. He then fell hard on his back. Motionless. Dead.
The [Others] exchanged words in their horrible language. The [dark shadow] then walked to Royce's corpse, and took the [Arrow] from his chest with a hand gloved in yellow.
"So much for First Men's blood…" it spoke, disappointed.
It spoke. The [dark shadow] spoke. And Will had understood it. What? A wildling? A traitor Watchman? What? What?
"Uhm?" the [dark shadow] muttered, as it noticed the [Arrow] still trembling. "Ah, so it wasn't… Ah!"
The [dark shadow] moved its head around. This time, Will noticed two silver eyes in the darkness of the hood. Not grey, or white. Silver. Unnatural. And they nailed on him. And with them, Will felt a dozen icy blue unnatural eyes nailing on him too. "Ah, yes, you, ah…" it spoke. "Will, right?"
It knew his name.
The dirk fell from his mouth. He screamed, and without thinking twice jumped from the tree to down below. Mayhaps he had broken one of his legs, but no matter. He ran. He ran away from the monsters. He ran and ran and ran and…
And he was running towards the [dark shadow] and the [white shadows] now. What? No!
He forced himself to stop, turn around and ran away again. None of the monsters moved. He lost his balance and fell on his hands, but kept running, clawing at the unbelievably cold dirt, snow and ice. He ran, he ran, he ran, he screamed and ran, and he…
Was beside Wymar's corpse, in front of the [dark shadow], surrounded by [Others]; once again.
"No, no…" he cried, and fell on his knees. His tears froze in the moment they began falling down his cheeks.
"You can't run," the [dark shadow] said, its silver eyes gleaming within the hood. "Not from me," it said, lifting the [Arrow] once again.
"No, no, no, no, no… Gared! Gared!" Will screamed.
"Ironically, Gared has run away;" the [dark shadow] said, mocking. Its voice was deep and strong and calm and dangerous, like the rumble of rocks that comes before the landslide. Will was sure now, this monster was a man. Or something that could speak like a man could. "Truly, a paragon of human courage! A prime example of the tenacity of the Night's Watch!" the monster mocked, and the terrible, icy laughs of the [Others] joined him.
"What, no, wait..." Will begged.
"Wait?" the monster with the silver eyes laughed. "You would be better without asking them to wait. They have waited long enough, the Cold Ones." he said, pointing to the [white shadows]. "But I guess they can wait a little longer, can't they? What are a couple of more years compared to millennia? Now…"
The [Arrow] trembled again. The [dark shadow] let go of it. And it flew again, until it pierced through Will's chest as it had done through Royce's.
It hurt. It hurt more than anything else he had felt in his entire life. But no blood was shed. When the pain disappeared, the [Arrow] had gone through him entirely. And left no wound. He heard the [white shadows] exchange more words. Somehow, he could tell they sounded satisfied.
"What? What? What sorcery…?" Will asked. His head hurt. His body hurt. His heart and soul hurt the most. Royce was dead. Gared had fled. He was alone with [Others] and a… a wizard or a demon, and… he didn't know what was happening!
"This is an experiment," the monster with the silver eyes said in its deep, strong, calm and mocking voice, then raised a second hand and arm from underneath the black robe, also gloved and garbed in painful yellow, and waved it. A signal. "Do you understand that word? Experiment. Of course you don't. Sometimes, I don't even know why I bother with you lot…"
"What?" Will said. He wondered if his mouth could utter any other word.
He saw another figure emerge from the dark. This one he could see perfectly. It looked… human, at first. A… A beautiful woman? It was. It was a woman. Gods, how long had it been since Will had seen one? Dressed in a wildling's rags… but not in as many as Will would have expected, not with this [cold]. Under the moonlight, her skin was as white and smooth as the snow she walked over. Her hair were waves of black silk. Her eyes were as red as [blood]. Her fingers ended in long nails… too long. Too sharp. She smiled, and her fangs were too sharp and long too. Like a beast's.
She moved faster than he could perceive. In the time it took Will to blink she was kneeling at his side, and she was holding him down; under the vigilant gazes of a dozen pairs of icy blue eyes and a pair of silver ones. She put one of her fingers over his forehead.
Will abandoned all hope. He truly was the only human being in that dark forest.
"Wryyyyy…" the woman said softly, pleased. Like the wildcat that corners the prey.
"Unnatural…" the man of the Night's Watch managed to curse them all.
"No," the [dark shadow] spoke.
"Simply [Bizarre]."
The woman's finger pierced through his skull.
The [cold] took a hold of his whole being.
And the Watchman was no more.
In the land of the lost horizon!
Where the queen lies dark… and cold…
And when the stars won't shine then the story's told… yeah!
When the world was milk and honey!
And the magic was strong and true!
Then the strange ones came and the people knew…
That the chains were on!
That the chains were on!
Dio – Egypt
Well I guess that's it for the re-working of the prologue. Considering how accustomed I am to writing MASSIVE chapters, I suppose writing in Martin's POV chapter structure is going to be harder for me, but it will at least result into shorter and more manageable chapters. Hope you enjoyed this, leave a review with any impression or suggestion you may have. This just a taste of things to come, and any update may come sporadically, because I want to focus really hard into the end chapters of one of my other stories, and I won't be able to focus on this fully until the first "Season" of Guardians, Wizards and Kung-Fu Fighters has concluded in two chapters. But I really wanted to write this, get it out of my brain and leave this idea on the page. So… here is it.
Now, speaking about massive chapters, gotta go back to working on GWaKFF.
Hope you are having a nice day, hope you are having incredible holidays, and enjoy the last days of the year.
Bye bye.